


The 20's

by Catchingelli



Category: Larry - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 00:39:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchingelli/pseuds/Catchingelli
Summary: Uhhh if this shows up as plagiarism when I turn it into my history class tomorrow, I'm suing.





	The 20's

Being a young man in the 20’s were the days when everything seemed possible and I felt the most invincible. Times were changing and the streets of Brooklyn New York seemed to be hyped up on treadmills. The economy was booming, the chatter was deafening and I, being your average man, felt both effects of the magic of jazz and the wretched reality of consumerism. Alcohol was recently banned and the entire country was in hysterics. It seemed every street corner had someone bootlegging alcohol and let me just tell you, hysteria and bad alcohol don't mix well together. The law never did stop anyone from addiction. Looking back, life in New York passed by in a blur but the one night that I tried buying illegal booze is the one night where the memories are most sober. 

It was 1922, a Saturday night. I had finished work early and was particularly pissed at my boob of a boss. I had been invited into the apartment just below mine several times but never felt entitled to buy alcohol until this particularly stressful night. I had knocked twice, once because I hadn't thought they heard me and a second for reassurance. Soon as the door flew open I was pushed against the stairwell, a hand on my neck, another tight on my shirt. The man had a nasty snarl and wide bloodshot eyes, looking on the border of insane and wasted. He had lifted his fist but was pulled back by two fellas who were patting him down while saying “break it up, we don't need any more attention”. 

I had choked, nearly coughing a lung out, a hand on my throat as an anchor. 

“You looking for booze?”, a man had approached me. I nodded, not being able to talk, let alone breath. “Tough luck” he had said to me. “Come back in the morning”. At the time I had thought ‘this is what I get for trying to break the law’ but looking back on it now, I got lucky.

I walked out onto the streets of Brooklyn not want to sleep so early on a Saturday night. The city lights were blinding, but as beautiful as ever. Women stumbled out of clubs with their heads tilted back and wrists bent just so. As I passed various shops, the soft hum of a saxophone stopped me. I entered a small jazz club, entranced by the music and sat down on a stool by the bar. Everywhere people shook their hips, the music having a deep hold on them. Alcohol was passed around but the dim lights hid the faces of the abusers. The laughter, the shouting and vibrato of the trumpet were all encompassing and at the moment, time had stopped.

“They’re puppets of society”. In the midst of having zoned out, a young white man had sat down next to me. He was dressed in glad rags, hair too long for he era. He looked at me with such intensity, I soon realized I was staring. 

“Huh?”, I replied, snapping out of my faze. 

“The people here.. They come every Saturday night to escape their pathetic lives, working 10 hour shifts at jobs they don't even like”. He spoke smoothly, softly and a bit too comfortable. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess”, he lifted an eyebrow. “I have a thing for flappers”, I attempted to joke. 

He broke a smile, leaned in and whispered into my ear “I prefer the flaming youth”. I laughed unable to comprehend why this guy with the crazed look in his eye was talking to me. Who was he?

“Who are you?”, I questioned. 

“Names Louis. Louis Tomlinson”. He held out a hand and I took it. 

“Harry Styles”, I smiled. “Let me buy you a drink”. He laughed and shook his head. 

“Costs two bits here!”. He said no more but grabbed my hand and pulled me out to dance. He beamed at me, ignoring the stares from everyone around us which included the band. He danced with such little regard of anyone and I thought to myself ‘surely someone’s bound to end this’. My palms began to sweat and my heart began to race from adrenaline. In the moment I truly believed with all of me that we were about to make history. The song came to a close and he stepped back, laughing and clapping like we had just put on the greatest show. He grabbed my hand once more, certainly mad. Only ten minutes in but I could tell I was keen to him. He hauled me all the way out of the club, the cold night air hitting my skin. He had continued to laugh but what for? Who knows.

He put a finger to my chest and said “big shot dances well” then skipped along the sidewalk. I followed him, unable to look away. But then he stopped suddenly and I nearly bumped into him. He turned around and looked up at me. 

“Would you like to go to a party?” His eyes pierced into mine. Our faces were so close I could see the faint freckles on his cheeks. I nodded, he blinked. He whirled around and called over a hack. We rushed in and he then proceeded to tell the cab driver a very detailed story about his first time in New York. From the driver’s occasional grunt I could tell he could care less.

I stared out the window only to realize we were heading towards the rich part of town. Louis paid the cab driver as I stood in front of the biggest mansion I had ever seen. He dragged me up the never-ending stairs and pulled me through two giant doors. The music and noise was louder than the city and the pool stretched on longer than the sea. Flappers covered every inch of the house and traces of alcohol littered the furniture like a crime scene. Ice sparkled on everyone’s chests, something of the richest. Louis’ smile stretched from ear to ear, the crinkles in his eyes showing that it was true. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. We sat on a velvet covered loveseat and I watched as everyone who passed by seemed to know Louis. 

He sat back and pointed to the man of the house and said “you see that man? He owns the property and most advertising companies in New York. He's a grifter and should not be trusted... He spent a year under glass after having zutzed a man for treason. In my opinion he should've spent a lifetime but like I said, he's a conman”. I never understood why he had entrusted me with such information that night but he did and that's what mattered. Most of what he had just said could have been considered vulgar but the attempt at anger, the passion in his eyes and the hush of his voice had me wrapped around his finger. We spent the next hour laughing at the drunk around us when he stood suddenly. He claimed the song to be his and danced freely, like no one I had ever seen. He opened his eyes, looked at me, and gave me a crooked smile. A smile meant only for me, something shared between us. 

A woman ran to him suddenly, encompassing him in a hug that nearly knocked the two over. The intention was friendly enough until she kissed him and he kissed back with a smile. He pulled away and said “Harry, this is my wife, Eleanor”. She held out a hand, one arm still around his waist and I, a coward, took it.

She kissed his neck then said “pleasure”. Her hand had shifted for his “he's the bee's knees ain’t he?”

I made eye contact with louis then, not an ounce of remorse or guilt showed on his face. I swallowed, nodded and said to him “he's extraordinary”. 

I stood, leaving the two to dance to the worst song of the century. I took a drink and drank it, having craved it since the moment I got off work.  
Not much is to learn from the night I tried buying illegal booze but I sure as hell would've gladly spent my life learning what it was like to love Louis Tomlinson.


End file.
